


lux/umbra

by rotrograde



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Bittersweet, Canon Compliant, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Shadowbringers, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, Other, POV Multiple, Pre-Relationship, Romantic Angst, Self-Acceptance, Self-Discovery, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, and this is where the tags will start to be out of order, eventually, we're in it for a long unpredictable haul
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rotrograde/pseuds/rotrograde
Summary: The messy, not so pretty retelling of the Warrior of Light's reunion with her soulmate.
Relationships: Ardbert/Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)
Kudos: 19





	1. Index

**Index:** You are here! 

This is a canon-compliant story that will start about halfway through Heavensward, and extend to the current point of Shadowbringers. Not everything will be written chronologically, but there is a system to the madness: any chapter with a roman numeral (I.E. I, II, III) will be the main story line. Any chapter with a normal number (I.E. 1, 2, 3) will be an offshoot, yet still compliant, branching of the story at hand.

♦♦♦ 

**  
[I.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645310/chapters/51614185#workskin)   
**  
**  
[II.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21645310/chapters/52301404)  
**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♦[tumblr](rotrograde.tumblr.com)  
> ♦[twitter](https://twitter.com/rotrograde)


	2. I.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her name is Ophelia Oiseau. 
> 
> The daughter of a fallen Ishgardian noblewoman turned single mother, who had left the life at an age where memories had yet to form for Ophelia. She lived with her mother in Gridania for several years before a sudden heart complication took her away, and Ophelia was left on her own at nineteen summers of age. 
> 
> Through pure serendipity and happenstance she left the forests for the vast deserts of Ul'dah, where she picked up the trade in back alley black magic. It's in the golden city where she inevitably meets Thancred Waters, a mysterious man who sees her for what she is, and it's through his persistence that she finds herself with a group penned The Scions of the Seventh Dawn. 
> 
> The Scions are closer than family for her, and it's over the course of two years she finds herself in the thick of their fates, with hers tightly intertwined through them all.

“I'm sorry, but that name is kind of stupid.” 

Ophelia said the words with a snort of bemused disdain. “I mean, come on, the _Warriors of Darkness?_ How is anyone supposed to take that seriously?” 

She sighed, leaning back against her chair. She reached up to press her palms against her eyes and dig them in until she was seeing static, and only once she was on the verge of an incoming headache did she let up and push her fingers up into her hair. “It's very original,” she continued with a bite of sarcasm to her tone. “I wonder who came up with it.” 

Ophelia heard a soft chuckle from across the ornately-decorated table where she sat. It was a tea table. And it was a tea table located in an elegant room that was an offshoot from the Fortemps courtyard, lit with the warmth and sparkling brilliance of an array of myriad tallow candles. The room itself was small and cozy, lined to the walls with various imported flowers and ferns that gave the room a heavy floral aroma. 

Thancred sat opposite of her, arms and legs crossed with his head tilted back over the edge of his own seat. “You're right,” he agreed. “But I think that's the point, my dear.” 

He leaned forward with a heavy groan. Ophelia dropped one hand from her face to watch him from the corner of her eye, silent as she contemplated his words. It was a good point, to be honest, but she still hated it.

“I guess,” she grunted after a moment, letting her other hand fall to her lap, and the bangs she'd been holding up obscure her vision. She clasped her hands together and started fidgeting with her fingernails, brushing lightly over the chipped and torn nail beds, all of them broken from a recent battle. A recent battle with _them,_ the Warriors With a Dumb Name, but it was no matter, she supposed. She would have some downtime to fix them soon enough. Hopefully, anyway; she could really use a day to herself. 

She heaved a sigh. “You said they've been here for how long now?” 

“Not sure on the specifics,” Thancred said, “but I think it's only been a couple of moons at most. Emphasis on the I _think_.” 

He shrugged his shoulders casually. He'd moved to rest his elbows on his thighs, his chin propped up on a hand while he looked to the outside. Night had fallen and it had brought of a haze of powdered snow with it, and Ophelia found her own gaze drawn to the downfall of it, too. It shimmered like diamond dust as it was thrown along in the wind, and the lone, errant thought of that was enough to dull the soul. 

“I wonder what it really is that they want,” she mused, mostly to herself. She'd moved her focus from the snow to some flowers outside instead, hardy little purple things that managed to bloom despite the dark days and snowy nights. _Maiden's Sunset_ was the name she remembered Haurchefant telling her. And once again, she felt her insides shrivel and drop and leave her hollowed out at the memory. Maybe she just needed to stop thinking altogether. Either that, or just grab a drink to spur the process along altogether.

“It's hard to say,” Thancred replied, his voice a welcome distraction in the moment. “I know only as much as you do. For as keen as they seemed to bring you low, they did talk an awful lot at you. Or, well, I should say the leader of that merry little band talked an awful lot at you.” He looked to her, his fingers idly scratching at the stubbly scruff on his chin.

Ophelia could only meet his piercing blue eyes for a moment. He was right; whoever _he_ was, the man with the soft brown hair and blue eyes just as intense as Thancred's, he'd spoken in what seemed like a wide and dizzying array of riddles meant mostly for her. It left her with so many more questions than she had ever anticipated, with absolutely no answers to show for it. It left her disheartened and a little disillusioned. 

“I wish he would have talked more,” she muttered, her tongue ahead of her thoughts. She paused and let them gather into a semi-coherence in her head, but in the end, she still didn't know what she was trying to get at. She spoke anyway. 

“Everyone loves talking to me. They love talking at me. It's beyond irritating these days when someone _won't_ talk to me. Or they will, but then they just beat around the godsdamned bush.” 

She wrung her hands out anxiously in her lap. She didn't know why it mattered so much in this case. She should have been used to this kind of thing by now, yet that group of individuals, that _man_ , they were different in the way they stuck out to her. There was something more to them. It was a strange thorn in her side, but she couldn't shake the feeling behind her ribs when she let her thoughts linger on them. On _him_. He seemed so familiar. He seemed to speak with the right intentions. He was harrowed, and he was _sad_. 

How could she possibly know how he was feeling? She didn't, but it was almost as if she could feel that sorrow, too. And she wasn't able to take her eyes off of him. 

Ophelia had left that situation with nothing but a strange guilt in her stomach and pity for that man. She was absolutely sure he didn't want to be pitied, yet here she was, thinking of him for the hundredth time that day again and trying to pick apart and read the shattered entrails of what he'd left of her heart. It hurt. It was selfish, she didn't know why she felt this way, but it hurt. It felt personal.

“You don't have to explain it to me.” Thancred sighed, shifting in his seat. He'd leaned back again, like he'd given up and into the possibility of a long, long conversation. They did that sometimes; Ophelia didn't feel like she could talk to anyone about anything, yet Thancred, over time, had proven himself a good wall to talk at. He kept a weird virtue in that way with her. Ophelia could vomit her guts up to him and he'd still say nothing to her in return. It was their promise to each other. To just be there for each other, for better or worse.

“I know,” she muttered, leaning against her armrest, defeated. “It's just frustrating. Especially when everyone looks to me for the best resolution to any problem that pops up. I don't know what to do with them, aside from just...let them be them for now, I guess.” 

She shook her head. She was exhausted from lack of sleep and drained energy reserves. Her body ached from the exertion of the fight with _them_ , and her head throbbed with the mental hurdles she was trying to jump for answers. It was all too much, and she reached up to cover her eyes again, sucking in such a deep breath that it left her lightheaded. 

“That might be the best solution for now,” Thancred said, idly tapping the heel of his boot against the marble floor. “Until we know for sure what exactly it is that's going on with them, the best we can do is just carry on and worry about ourselves. That said, it's not like they'll remain ignored completely. I do plan on tracking them as best I can in the meantime. I'm sure Urianger and Alisaie will be willing to help as well.” 

Those were two names Ophelia hadn't heard in quite some time; Alisaie's especially, even if she had recently resurfaced from the shadows. But the reminder of allies outside the frozen wasteland they called home for the moment was reassuring. It was all too easy to cave into the feeling of being trapped and alone, like the whole world was still against her. They were long past that point now, she knew. But she still couldn't help but remember how it had all felt, and how it lingered underneath her skin still. She couldn't help but remember that amalgamation of fury and desolation in her chest when she was first cast out, the utter feeling of betrayal and contempt stirring in her broken heart. It was all hard to let go of.

That was all such a lifetime ago, though. A bundled, tangled mess she'd already unraveled and needed to leave behind. She rubbed at her cheek weakly, her frame slumping uselessly in her chair. She was glad, in that moment, that it was such a plush and comfortable chair. 

“Tell me I'll be the first one you come to, if anything happens. If you happen to learn anything else, I mean. I want to be the one to know first.” It was greedy of her. Alphinaud and the others were just as concerned about the matter as she was, and if anything, they deserved to know about the situation more intimately than she. Even if she was the one to figure things out in the bitter end, their role was just as important as hers while she followed in tandem and did what she perceived to be the right thing to do. For all of them. 

She didn't want it to be like that this time around. She didn't want to admit to it, but that man, that poor, sad thing...she wanted to know more about him. She wanted to know why he did what he did, what it was that was making him do all of this. Why he was doing something so similar, yet refused to enlighten her as to why. She wanted this to be her charge for once.

“Of course. I didn't plan on telling anyone anything until after I'd rendezvoused with you.” 

Thancred was smiling at her. It was a soft, sweet thing. An expression that managed to get her to return it with a soft plucking of her own lips, the corners just barely upturned as she looked back at him from the corner of her eye. 

“Thank you,” she said, her gaze quickly falling to her lap. “Hopefully we can get lucky and find out something soon. It's...” 

She sighed, before shaking her head. “I don't know.” 

And she really didn't. At the end of all of this, she just felt lost, and silly. Silly that it was even making her feel this way, silly that she was thinking about it so much, and so hard. At the end of the day, it was just another group of people fated to be charted on her course. Yet at the same time, she couldn't help but wonder if it was the other way around: if it was her who was in their way, destined to be their obstacle to something greater. To something far more meaningful than what she was currently endeavoring for. Nothing else in her current wandering career had really left her with the same thoughts and packaged feelings. It was a strange, slimy sensation that made her wonder if she'd been like this for countless others, without her seasoned awareness to tell her otherwise. 

Thancred simply hummed. Ophelia looked back to him, before the weight of the situation suddenly hit her as hard as that man's axe had. 

“I'm sorry,” she started, her lips falling into a guilty pout. “You've only just returned to us, and here I am, making you sit here and listen to me and my woes again... You're just as clueless as I am. You should be resting.” 

She always felt like an emotional leech no matter who she was with, but this time even more so. 

Thancred was quick to wave a hand. “No, no,” he said, shaking his head, “don't you dare worry about it. A lot has happened, and all of it warrants discussing, whether now and here, or later on down the road.

“We'll get it figured out, Ophelia. Don't worry about it for now. Just worry about what's at hand. For your sake.” 

He reached out a hand towards her. His palm was turned up to face her, and Ophelia looked at it and the new scar adorning his heart line with mild distress. His was always a steady hand, and Ophelia found herself appreciating the silent pillar of support he was willing to offer more than ever, even now, when she was probably acting like a sullen teenager about things. She put her hand on his and let him clasp it, his thumb brushing over the side, almost fondly. Ophelia let herself believe it was as simple as that. 

She closed her eyes, breathing in deep. She didn't let up until her lungs ached and her diaphragm hurt, and she held it there after the fact. She felt Thancred's fingers squeeze hers, and when he let go, she let out the air she'd been holding between pursed lips. 

“Thank you,” she finally muttered. Her head was still low, and she found it difficult in the moment to pick herself back up, but she spoke the words with a deep and earnest honesty. “I'm so glad you're back. I...I really am.” 

Tears threatened at the corners of her eyes, but it was hard to let them gain fruition and fully form. Despite the fact Thancred had been missing for so many moons, and the distant pull in her heart she'd feel whenever she thought of him or the other missing Scions, everything in her was so numb. After everything that had happened, her walls had only fortified themselves with a greater intensity, and left it nearly impossible for her to express anything more than the minimal amount of emotion needed to get through a normal interaction. 

And when she thought about it, maybe that was why the events prior to her little breakdown in their small tea room bothered her so much. That man's eyes—so soft and blue, yet so steeled and stormy, for as cliché as it was—had seared themselves into her mind's eye and made it impossible to forget them. They had been so clear, so determined, unreadable, and so...oddly beautiful. 

Ophelia's breath caught in her throat. She quickly willed the feeling away, and did her best to forget she had even allowed the erring thought to cross her mind. After all, she was hurt that someone so similar to her would be so out of touch with her. In only a few seconds she had her sky-high hopes clipped and forced to the ground when he'd made his intentions clear, and she was mourning that chance at a confidant who might understand.

Which was equally silly, but she just drew that up to the simple conclusion of being _tired_. 

“I'm glad to be back,” she'd heard Thancred say. His voice was distant to her ears, and she struggled to come back to reality to pay attention to it. 

“Though I daresay the excitement of today has left us both off kilter. What do you say we retire for the night and reconvene tomorrow?” 

He spoke the words gently. Ophelia almost hated it, but she couldn't bring herself to actually commit to the feeling. 

“Yeah,” she said, flashing him what she hoped was an agreeable expression. 

“Then it's settled.” Thancred stretched his arms high above his head before rising to his feet. Ophelia watched him from where she sat, her fingertips idly stroking at the velveteen material on the armrest.

“I'll see you on the morrow, Ophelia. It's good to be with you again.” 

He reached a hand out towards her again, and instinctive reflex told her to take it in hers. But Thancred bypassed the motion and threaded his fingers through the loosened ends of her bangs instead, pushing them slowly back behind an ear. It caught her off guard and pinched her eyebrows together, but she leaned into the touch despite herself. It was nice to feel comfort through physical contact, and she often forgot just how indulgent it could be. 

“I'll be here if you need me.” Thancred lightly pat her head before turning away, and she was left to watch him walk through the dark doorway back into the manor. 

She didn't make any move to follow after him. She simply just sat there, quietly, left to feel a little more alone in the slowly darkening room. The bitter chill of the night and the soft moonlight swaddled her as her thoughts of that man kept her awake, and kept her wondering. No matter what she did, and no matter what she tried, she just couldn't scrape him or his haunting image from the rind of her skull.


	3. II.

“I hate it here!” Renda's voice rang out suddenly through the trees, loudly enough to frighten several birds away from their general location. “It's too cold here,” she continued, “the landscape is ugly, it smells, and dragons are a lot louder than you think they are. I can hear them constantly singing, and it's starting to give me a headache. Not to mention the constant warking of those...what, chocobos?” 

She ended her tiny tirade with a graceless flop down onto her little makeshift bed. It was tucked in against the trunk of a huge, towering, white tree that she gazed up at with moderate disdain. The violet-hued leaves that adorned its ghostly branches merely rustled back at her, offering no comfort in their whispers and the fluttering of bird wings concealed in their depths. 

“I know, I know,” Ardbert groaned, his voice considerably more quiet. He had it partially muffled behind the hand he'd dragged down over his face, his fingers tugging at his skin and scratching at the scruff on his chin. He heaved a sigh before hanging his head, his hand moving back around to the nape of his neck. He rubbed hard at the base of his skull, visibly dissociating while he chewed on his own thoughts. 

_It's only for a little while,_ he wanted to say. 

“We'll be done here soon,” he said instead, looking back up to Renda with a weak smile. The five of them—though the other three didn't seem to be in a terribly chatty mood—sat around a crackling fire, a small thing that barely kept the chill of the air out of their circle. The stench of the landscape permeated throughout the smoke, turning it somewhat green, and Ardbert tiredly threw more disgustingly soggy kindling at the lazy flames. 

“We'll be out of here by the morrow,” he said. “Just have patience.” 

Branden grunted something that sounded like an agreement. Nyelbert didn't move at all, and Lamitt visibly nodded. Renda didn't say anything as she directed her gaze to the fire, her expression sullen and her eyes sorrowful. 

“I don't feel good about what we did,” she eventually piped up, her ears flattening against her head, her tail tip twitching. “I know it's to save home and all, but they—” 

“We can't afford to sympathize with them, Renda,” Ardbert interjected. “I know what you're about to say, and I'm warning you not to. It's best just to focus on what we came here to do, and what still needs to be done.” 

Renda ducked her head and pouted. She looked conflicted and confused, and it was no wonder as to why; they all had a facade to keep up with, and Ardbert could tell hers was especially draining. When the unfamiliar night covered the land in its glittering blanket of misplaced stars and there were no more otherworldly adversaries to play a part to, she wilted like a flower. They all did, and it ruined Ardbert's heart. 

Still, there was nothing they could do about it. They all silently accepted the fact without question or argument, and he was grateful for that. Lamenting on what couldn't be done or changed didn't help anything. Despite how much he wanted to, himself. 

The other Warrior of Light—his counterpart, he supposed—was different. She hadn't been what he was expecting. He didn't expect her to hold out the olive branch with no questions asked, even if it was something he would have done himself underneath different circumstances. She and hers didn't even bother to ask questions; if anything, they just looked excited, almost. Confused, but there was an elation there he could feel. Especially when it came to _her._

And as if she were reading his mind, Renda spoke up again. 

“Do you think that woman was a cultist?” she asked, her voice pitched a bit higher. She was trying to make lighthearted small talk, and while Ardbert was ready and willing for it, he didn't know if he was prepared for _that_ kind of inquiry and topic of discussion.

“What do you mean?” 

Branden snorted, and even Nyelbert looked amused. Renda looked at him with surprise, her eyes wide and her ears perked. 

“Did you even look at her?” she asked, her tail waving behind herself. “The girl was covered in weird tattoos. I couldn't really make out what they were, but they were definitely shapes I'd never seen before. Even here. It makes me wonder...” 

“She was casting magic similar to what Nyelbert wields.” Lamitt said her piece as if she were talking about the weather. “I noticed she seemed to pull the same spells.” 

Nyelbert nodded. Ardbert looked between the two and Renda, before he stopped himself from forcing ignorance and actually thought about it. 

Renda wasn't wrong. The woman had been laced over in peculiar tattoos, circular and geometric patterns that seemed to mostly adorn her left arm. He remembered seeing a few of the same line patterns on one of her legs, and the back of her neck, but everything had happened in such a flash he couldn't remember much. Just her voice, really. And her two mismatched eyes: one blue, like his, with the other being brown. 

The more he thought of her, though, the more he did end up remembering. From her pale skin to her dark hair, she just stood out in general. To be fair, her entire posse had a sort of strange harmony going on with their similar, overly elaborate outfits, and he had to wonder if it was on purpose. Hers would have been a bit more natural if Lamitt and Nyelbert's theory were true. Ardbert remembered hearing something about the black mages of this world, and he was sure that was probably what she was. Her black robes would have been the tell-tale sign, even if she went a bit...lenient, with the outfit's structure. 

Still, even if she did look like some tasteful, gaudy witch from a fairy tale, she hit like a Talos. Ardbert winced just from the memory of those flames exploding all around him, and he was beyond grateful that none of them had seemed to directly strike him. He had to wonder if that had been on purpose, too. She really had seemed unwilling to outright wound them, even when they had shown as much hostility toward her as they did. 

That was another barb to the heart. Ardbert knew full well the Ascians couldn't be trusted as far as he could throw them, but their descriptions of this world's Warrior of Light had been convincing. That she was becoming a blight in her part of the star, and that soon, she'd cause the same thing that happened to them, but for her world. That power was enough and then some to fix things back home, and while Ardbert desperately wanted nothing but that to right his wrongs and cleanse his world of his sins, he was conflicted. The gods be damned, and he hated himself for it, but he was conflicted. 

They really hadn't said much to each other. Just some vague and vapid insults from his side, and the ensuing silence from the other. Yet the experience had been more than a little emotionally draining for all of them, and he could tell he wasn't the only one to feel the same way he did. For as much effort as they put into saving and helping people back home, to be reduced to all of this was almost a laughable insult. Only a turn of the sun ago, back to his last summer, he never would have guessed he'd find himself in a position quite like this. 

“We will be meeting again, will we not?” Lamitt asked, dragging Ardbert out of his stupor. 

“We'll have to,” he answered, breaking his hunched posture to lean against his own tree. If they had one thing going for them, it was the cover of the forest to hide them. The little clearing they'd claimed practically existed inside its own bubble, offering only the slightest peek to the outside world. The sky was completely blotted by the leaves, the foliage turning pitch black as the sun set. 

“We'll have to wait to hear our next course of action, but yeah, we will be.” 

Lamitt hummed. “Maybe it would be worth it to just tell them what we're doing?” she asked, looking to Ardbert with tired eyes. “It's never been written in stone that this has to be the only way. We've had to figure out plans A and B and so much more. We've always tried to find the better solution. And maybe if we just swallowed our pride, she could help us.” 

Ardbert's mouth pulled itself into a thin line. “We _can't,_ Lamitt. There is no other way. I wish there was, but there isn't.” He'd unintentionally snapped his words at her, and he regretted them the moment they left his lips

“All right,” Lamitt near-whispered, her eyes quickly finding the fire between all of them. “I do suppose you're right.”

Ardbert wanted to huff and cross his arms, but he only had it in himself to do the latter. He hugged himself tightly, a little defensively, and pointedly directed his own gaze to the flames again. 

If they told her, this shard's Warrior of Light, their plans—he didn't know what would happen. Her reaction had literally infinite possibilities, and he was sure it would land on a solid disbelief. He had a feeling that she would play along until proven true, but it was still a difficult scenario that would have been difficult to play with. Not to mention how cruel they'd been to her. Even if she were willing to play into their claims, there was no telling how she'd feel about them now. If she exclaimed an interest in wanting them gone and dead, he wouldn't blame her. 

And then there were the Ascians. They'd know right away if she'd been alerted to their plans. He didn't know if she was able to fend off their ilk, but even if she could, that was still a chance Ardbert wasn't comfortable taking. If anyone had to face her for whatever reason, he wanted it to be them. He wanted it to be him. 

With that train of thought, it suddenly hit him how hard he _did_ want to be honest with her. That same excitement she'd hinted at upon meeting them had ingrained itself into him, too, and the possibility of coming together with someone who undoubtedly would understand most of his situation more than most others left him with a yearning longing. 

But he had to follow his own damn advice. He had to dash the thought of trying to be proactive in any other way than the path they'd chosen, because there _was_ no other path to tread. There was no justification for them, and there was no retribution for them. Not after the choices they'd made. 

Ardbert hated it. Just as much as he hated seeing the others so deeply miserable. It was a necessary evil that had cost them everything, and now, they couldn't even rest. It was impossible for them, just like being mortal was. There were no more chances at sleep, or eating or drinking or even simply _feeling._ It was foolish to think they could do anything else at this point, when they were already so far past the point of no return. 

Ardbert settled quietly in against his tree again, unwilling to continue the conversation. The others kept quiet, no doubt able to pick up on the shift in mood. Either that, or they just simply didn't want to talk. Ardbert couldn't tell anymore, and he hated that most of all. It was hard to feel anything aside from reconciled anger, and the deep desolation that came with it. It made it hard to feel like he was part of their family, like they could trust and confide in each other like they used to. Any emotion that might have brushed against the softness of a gentle happiness was completely off the table and moot, and it made it impossible to feel in touch with anything, or anyone. 

And he had to make sure it stayed that way. For their sake, and for _hers._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ♦[tumblr](rotrograde.tumblr.com)  
> ♦[twitter](https://twitter.com/rotrograde)

**Author's Note:**

> ♦ [tumblr](https://rotrograde.tumblr.com/)  
> ♦ [twitter](https://twitter.com/rotrograde)


End file.
